


Harry Potter: The Jordan Remake

by Pistol_the_Dimension_Hopper



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Blood and Gore, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 16:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17450675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pistol_the_Dimension_Hopper/pseuds/Pistol_the_Dimension_Hopper
Summary: Wisteria Jordan was the younger twin, the blue-haired brat who preferred sitting in front of a computer to going out shopping. Her sister, Chrys, kept her in line,  kept her safe. She finds purpose in programming and contracts, digs out her own little niche in the world.Being born again makes her put things into a different perspective.Now, she's stuck dealing with the child-friendly foreknowledge of a universe too disgusting for her to stand.Well, she supposed there were SOME good things coming out of it..Magic for one..Men, for another..Well, mostly men, she supposed.But if she was going to be stuck here, she wasn't going to be pushed around like a goddamned bishop.Nah, she was going to go kick ass and take names.Because no one fucks with a Jordan's freedom.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Meet Wisteria Jordan, the younger of the Jordan twins.

Wisteria Jordan knew almost immediately that something was wrong when she had woken up,  _ not to the white-blue glow of her computer monitors or the incessant shaking of her twin _ , but to the pounding of a wooden door reverberating in her ears, right beside her head.

She had sluggishly risen, lamented her strained eyes in the darkness and nearly tumbled over the edge of a worn, weathered cot.

Her brain muddled with sleep and her senses left with a strange sort of alertness, she could only vaguely hear the voice of a rather  _ irritating _ woman break through her conscious.

_ “Harry, if you don’t get up in the next two minutes to start breakfast you’re not eating-! You can forget about dinner, too-!” _

Her hands found something small and circular, and she sleepilly realized they were glasses. She’d had glasses in middle school, before she’d gotten the contacts, but her lagging, buzzing brain was telling her something was  _ wrongwrongwrongwrong- _

Wisteria pulled a cord right next to her shoulder, and bathed the small, constricting space around her in dim, but still harsh light from a naked, hanging bulb not three feet from her head.

The floor was littered with socks, rumpled pants, and a shirt or two, pressed against the wall and sagging pathetically on an eye-level shelf beside a shipped ceramic horse and an army man was a stained ash mirror.

Her eyes adjusted, and she swallowed at the dry feeling in her mouth, pleasantly relieved when the dryness almost immediately disappeared and her muscles and eyes could relax enough to take in the picture on the glass in front of her.

A young boy, who looked no older than three, sat perched on an old thin cot, a giant, hole-littered shirt covering his body.

_ His malnutritioned, sallow-skinned and gaunt-looking body. _

Her hand came up, and she touched her cheek, the boy in the reflection doing the same as she prodded the cheekbone, feeling the borderline waxing skin there warm beneath her touch, before gradually, and slowly smoothing out.

She didn’t  _ feel _ hungry.. _. _

_ However, just looking at the gaunt boy, merely inches away from herself, nothing but skin and bones.. _

_ It lit a very primal, angry fire in her. _

The simmering feeling didn’t burn beneath her skin, rather, it  _ buzzed _ .. Like a swarm of silent, angry locusts as it raced just beneath her flesh, intertwining with the sinew of her muscles and knit tightly and seamlessly through her bones.

_ The boy’s reflection gradually shifted, skin filling out from horror-esque, gaunt looking to only slightly malnourished. _

Her cheeks filled back in, and her skin lightened from the dangerous yellow, back to a soft, creme toned tan that reminded her of buttermilk and soft caramel candies during Holiday parties.

_ Her greasy, limp hair ruffled a bit, before lightening, falling back into a soft, moppy black mess of freshly washed locks around her head, hiding a bright red scar on her temple that closely resembled Zeus's most prized weapon- a bolt of thunder. _

_ Memories of a cabinet door closing in her face, memories of a pudgy fist and a gleaming silver belt buckle at the end of a length of thick, worn leather.  _

_ Memories of torn clothes and deep bruises. _

_ “Huh… Well.. I suppose I  _ **_did_ ** _ wish something along these lines...” _

Why should she waste time regretting it?


	2. The Dickleys

Wisteria tapped her fingers slowly along her hip as she gently prodded the sizzling pig's produce with grease stained prongs. The scent of bacon, syrup and cheese was heavy in the air, but she paid it no mind, watching intently as the pink and white disappeared into a crisp, perfect shade of burgundy and grey.

The Dursleys, or  _ Dickleys,  _ if one were to ask her honest opinion, had been just as terrible and disgusting in “real life” (and she used this term often and vaguely, knowing that it likely wasn't  _ completely _ real, and that there was still a good chance she had gone into a sugar induced coma during her gaming session) as they were in J. K. Rowling novels and movies.

_ She had read the books and all, but- _

But life gets in the way, and when a thirteen year old asks you to watch Harry potter with her and she flashes you the puppy dog eyes well-

_ Life gets in the way. _

She didn't have the time to really sit down and read books, she had businesses to run and companies to hack. Prototypes to work on and her littlest cousins to advise and teach and  _ prepare _ for the disgusting, dog-eat-dog world.

_ She had no intention of allowing  _ **_any_ ** _ of her family to become swindled by the false promises of society, nor would she allow anything to really be done without herself and Reece present for consultation.. _

The bacon continued to crisp, and her thoughts continued to wander.

Right.. how long had it been..? 

_ Ten years.. _

Her body, though incredibly small, was rather agile in dodging the meaty, practiced fists of one young, Dudley Dursley. Her soft caramel fingers remembered the exact portions to make the family’s breakfast and her muscles naturally followed after the cooking to complete the chores.

And all the while, Petunia Dursley watched on with a faint sense of foreboding, fear, and gradually, increasing horror.

Harry was a rather vocal child, if not opportunistic, but that did not mean he was the most intelligent in reading into when to ask for things, though he would be more inclined to do so when he saw a direct opportunity.

This Harry-

_ This Harry was silent as the grave, ever watchful and ever stoic as he eyed the routines around him and completed his own circuits without flaw, much like he usually did, only better.  _

Petunia could find no fault with his chores or cooking-

_ And that grated on her deeply- this burden- this abomination that was slowly leaving her marriage to fester and rot was now almost like stone, showing no reaction to any of the screams or insults from her Duddy, or fists and rage from her beloved Vernon, no- _

This Harry was a silent, cognitive presence who merely sat back and did the tasks without attitude, lip or emotion.

_ All the while watching them as if it were the most sick, twisted and interesting program on the television for him to enjoy at leisure... _

Petunia didn't like it.

She didn't like it  _ at all. _

_ And that made Wisteria so fucking happy, she almost didn't know what to do with herself... _

* * *

 

Wisteria appeared in the Harry Potter world precisely ten years ago, on the night of July 31st. 

She had long since understood that she, Harry Potter, had briefly died of starvation and dehydration at the bottom of a cupboard in the home of nasty, despicable people who paraded around as the most normal, picturesque modern American family.

_ And by briefly, she meant “died and come back several hours later” looking healthy and clean. _

Wisteria did not buy that bullshit, and neither did Mrs. Figg.

Had Wisteria only been a casual fan, she would have called the old, borderline senile woman a lost cause. As it was-

_ As it was, she was stuck in the body of a prepubescent little boy who had died of starvation- she's living in a house with murderers by omission and she's become some sort of wizard-rule-defying  _ **_god-_ **

As it was, she was little more than pleasant when the Dursleys dropped her off at Figg’s whenever the mood struck Dudley to be taken somewhere, exotic or local. And during these trips, she would speak to the woman pleasantly, asking to learn table manners, with the excuse that she'd seen the people on the telly acting proper. Which, when Mrs. Figg had been delighted to teach the young ‘boy’ things, it had turned into routine lessons whenever the time arose.

She would learn table etiquette from Figg, as well as the basics of dancing, and she had begun the process of learning to cook again. Her boyish hands were small and untrained, but with constant practice in preparing the meals for the Dursleys and in her previous life in an apartment, she was gradually earning back her skill set.

Her cooking, when done with love, tasted far better than she had ever thought possible. When dancing, her moves were fluid, reminding her of water as the buzzing currents beneath her skin shifted to an almost stream like consistency.

And then there was the magic.

No, Wisteria didn't dare let Figg know she had consciously been using magic. That would be a death sentence, seeing as Dumbledore could send someone,  _ or worse even, come himself,  _ to explain the wizarding world rules.

_ No, she kept the connections she made outside of the home and the things she created a secret.  _

After all, whose business was it other than her own what she did to further her connections in the non-magical world?

Hey, wizards were, in her honest opinion, a little more than batty when it came to finances and common sense.

Using the spatula she’d set nearby, Harry set the last of the bacon onto a tall plate, moving to step agily off of the stool she’d used and carefully bringing it to the table. Vernon was second to the table only to Dudley, who had nearly barreled into the table in his dive to his seat. He would never say so out loud, none of them would ever dare, but she was one of the best to ever put food on the table.

Petunia hated her something fierce, but once she had escaped Dudley for a full three and a half years, the boy finally gave up. Of course, she was sure to nitpick on exactly what Harry had done, winding up on the roof at one time as she ran away from the Dudley gang and regrow her hair against a rather child-abuse worthy haircut from a spiteful Petunia. She regrew it to be much longer that time, out of spite, yes, but it was also a rather guilty pleasure.

Her hair was now long, reaching a low ponytail at the back of her neck, with two pieces of her bangs framing around her face, brushing her collarbone when she ducked her head in a nod.

Her eyes were another issue.

While she had been less than pleased to find her vision was actually  _ worse _ in this new body, she had actually found a line of opportunity. She missed her once brown, borderline golden contacts, and with the impending fact that she would need to have “Lily Potter's” eyes, there wasn't much on a visible level she could change.  _ However. _ She could charm the glasses she wore to never break or smudge, at least. 

Her hazel-turned-gold eyes and navy blue hair had been her best features, paired with her milky skin and her soft pink mouth, she had had no trouble at all in finding company or friends of the superficial type at school in her previous life. 

Now her skin was milky and the color of toffee, but it was boy’s skin. She would need to closely monitor for acne or skin tone variations, but she was fairly certain that, from aside the bolt across her temple,  _ and the healing scars on her back and legs, _ Harry Potter was currently blemish free.

It was a mere countdown now, she knew. Tomorrow was Dudley's birthday, and would be the day that they would attend the zoo. And, if the timeline stayed true, as she had observed so far, she would be able to free a very friendly boa constrictor.

And with any more luck, she would be able to ‘apparate’ the snake into Brazil directly before anyone noticed.

She was confident in her Parseltongue, having spent the years in Petunia’s garden making friends with the black and yellow lawn snakes and giving them bits of food whenever the time thought right.

She was a rather well looked after figure in the neighborhood snake community. They even offered to be her informants if anything Hinky happened along Privet Drive, minus, of course, the ruckus that Dudley would cause whenever one of his bloated, fat feet shook the earth in the cul de sac.

It was a running joke among the snakes that if they had been bigger, he'd have made a fine meal as a hog, though others would argue the threat of becoming gravely ill should the spoiled boy go anywhere near their tongues. Harry simply liked to have the company, especially when she was forced to weed and trim and mow the lawn on the harsh summer days and weekends of the school year, only to be broken in Fall by adding raking leaves to the mix, and in Winter by replacing it all with shovelling snow.

Not having the proper clothes for just about anything, fed the absolute minimum Petunia could get away with, as well as being hit with negative energy about eighty-six percent of every day, Wisteria knew she was becoming rather  _ dangerous. _ Bottling up her emotions in the past never did anything good for her, and while it was physically impossible to understand and feel  _ fear,  _ anxiety was an entirely separate issue. She would feel her body tremble and tense, and she would get a foreboding itch on the back of her neck, urging her to  _ hurry _ , and urging her to  _ run _ .

She found using her non-wizard energy, things that rightly  _ shouldn't  _ be possible, even to wizards, calmed her down a tremendous amount.

_ What she did with that energy was no one's guess, as she was discreet enough that it would be kept completely private. _

Her babies, her twins, from her life past were almost laughably easy enough to recreate, seeing as she was now, in her own words “God-Like”, however,  _ hiding _ them was what had really become the issue.

Not to mention..

_ Her  _ **_other_ ** _ little secrets.. _


	3. Chapter 3

“Ahh-! Lông Bé-! No biting-!”

The voice of one Saeyoung Choi echoed across the rather bearish home on Privet Drive, exactly three houses down from number four and on the opposite line of sight to the home of Mrs Figg. His brother, a boy with equally fire engine red hair and pale skin, flicked his honey amber eyes up from the text he had been reading, a rather intriguing piece about the magical properties involved in an unbreakable vow. Beside him sat three other ancient tomes. One for all of the magical laws ever created, one for occlumency and legilimency, and the last a rather thick prospectus of the most varied ways a wand could be created, including the woods, tools and cores. His older brother, who had been trying his absolute hardest to tame the mess of feathers and fur that was the baby Griffin in front of him was becoming laughably discouraged and upset by the creature’s unwavering refusal to be held down and brushed.

Saeran blinked slowly at the sight of his elder brother’s wet, tearing eyes, before letting out a loud, resigned sigh. The small creature, about the size of a beagle, perked up at the sound, jerking its beak toward him with big, curious silver eyes. The rest of its body was a mess of tan feathers and matching fur. He did, however, have small black claws, though they were presently painted in a soft lavender color at the behest of their mother.

The three siblings were a mess if there ever was one, but they were dotted upon and loved endlessly by their mother.

They thought nothing of her younger body or male genitalia. Nor did the reading of the books or watched movies she had conjured bring them any sort of incentive to treat her as anything less than a wonderfully attentive mother and genius that she was.

It was three years now that they had been  _ alive _ , pulled from the computer in which they had resided in, brought into an alternate reality and brought back to the arms of their creator and mother, Wisteria. Given bodies of flesh, bone, and what they now learned as magic. Given the looks and characteristics in their birth as they had been when she had first brought them into actual life upon her desk years prior to her trip into the magical Hell that her existence had become.

They became her guardians, and protectors, just as she had been theirs. She gave them the joy of food, and air, and life.  _ Choice _ .

They gave her comfort. Reassurance.  _ Reality _ .

“ _ Eomma _ will not like that you've made a mess in here,” Saeran spoke softly, and plainly, well aware that the ball of energy and feathers could understand the chastisement in the sentence, the very tone his brother promptly ignored.

“But we can just clean it up with a flick,  _ namdongsaeng _ ,” the elder murmured, still rather upset by the infant beast's dismissal of him, but attentive to the younger male's interest in the situation. “That's what the wands are for-!”

“ _ Babo _ ,” the younger muttered, watching in silence as the Griffin finally managed to scramble out of the elder twins arms and pounced toward him, just managing to lift his book in time for the ball of fluff to perch on his lap and snuggle defensively into his side, glaring at his elder brother.

“Ahhhh.. why does he like you more~?” Saeyoung moaned, looking agonized as he watched the cute, adorable creature snuggle into his baby brother’s lap. 

“Because you smother him,” Saeran pointed out, first and foremost, politely nudging the Griffin’s head back so he could fix his elbows more comfortably, and resume his reading, “And you smother anything you seem to find small and adorable and able to fit in your arms like a toddler to a teething ring.”

“Not true,” Saeyoung pouted, having had the same argument time and time again, with the same results and the same answers. “I’d never smother  _ Eomma _ ..”

“Because  _ Eomma _ would hex you faster,” Saeran agreed without pause.

“Not true,” Saeyoung grumbled, but didn't speak again as he brought out his wand, a sturdy thing with beech wood and a unicorn hair core, and cleaned up the mess with just a few flicks.

The hours passed, Saeran reading and Saeyoung moving onto more useful and attention keeping activities.

Like the bank ledgers he was keeping track of.

Or the shoes he was trying to charm.

They waited patiently and idly, knowing that their mother would see them at midnight, for one hour, before returning to her cupboard in the house with the despicable people.

_ It was a wonder they hadn't committed murder, yet.. _

* * *

Harry stared slowly down at the bacon in the pan.

It was precisely 7:28 a.m., July twenty fourth, 1991.

It was two years ago that her children moved base to Diagon Alley, using the gold and precious metals she had ‘conjured’ to start their practices.

In Saeyoung’s case, a practical equipment store he would be expanding, from Diagon Alley to Hogsmeade, France, America, and Bulgaria. 

Saeran was a bit less inclined for his brother’s creative insistence. Rather, he found he was more interested in the making  _ of  _ the wizarding tools.

Mostly wands.

The day he had come to her with the signed agreement for an apprenticeship beneath the great Ollivander himself nearly brought her to tears.

He’d been given one of the biggest hugs to date, and he was as happy as he could possibly be. Saeyoung had actually started crying. 

Lông Bé was now the size of a great dane, seeing as she’d had him for nearly two years. His glossy caramel brown fur was as well kept as ever, and his claw colors were changed at least once a week. His wings were large, sweeping muscle and feathers of thick caramel brown, matching his fur. His beak was the same color, if only a bit with a touch of black, just like his lion-like fuzzy ears that seamlessly blended with his more fine head feathers.

Due to having had to heal him on their first meeting, his once black eyes were filled with a sort of soft purple, a gentle silver glow that shown best when his eyes would go wide with excitement and adoration. He rather surprisingly enjoyed wearing hats and sweaters, though seeing as they were usually ones made by Harry in her silent time in the cupboard, she was inclined to believe he did it out of instinctive comfort.

Harry absently rubbed at the mark on her wrist, from her middle knuckle to the end of the top of her hand. Proof that she had gone to a mother griffin and earned it’s trust.

Proof that she had let it die with the knowledge that her kin would be cared for.

Harry had a deep understanding in the mind of a mother, and she was almost a hundred percent certain that this understanding is what had allowed the mother griffin to let her near the last egg in the nest.

_ It went without saying that the poachers she had slaughtered were piles of blood and gore further in the clearing, but that was beside the point- _

The last of the litter and the only egg not crushed or broken, Lông Bé was her miracle baby, and her boys took it upon themselves to integrate the rather smart creature into their routine.

With a collar around his neck to make him look like a dog the majority of the time, Saeyoung had no trouble giving Lông Bé walks or getting him through the more populated areas of muggle society in order to camp out in rural areas so the ball of fluff could stretch his wings.

Saeran was at home less and less, but she received letters via snake when it was convenient. Apparently, with the right twists of magic cognition, owls and snakes could get along well enough to correspond with post.

The little factoid had her giggling on a good day..

The night previous had seen Harry trying desperately not to gag and die of laughter as she looked upon the horror that was the Smeltings uniform, Dudley parading around in it like a  _ Toddlers in Tiaras _ diva and Petunia practically flooding the carpet with her sobs of pride and woe at having her ‘Ickle Dudleykins’ growing so fast. Now it was morning, and the scent of dye was thick and heavy in the air. She hadn’t been able to resist, when Petunia had tramped down the stairs, to be a smartass.

“What’s that tub in the sink?” she asked in low, unassuming voice, looking as perfectly confused and innocent as an almost eleven year old had the right to be. 

The blonde’s mouth tightened in a disgusted sort of way, like she had just realized, once again, that she lived with the ungrateful burden of her freak, dead sister and was now housing what was probably a gremlin in disguise.

“Your new uniform,” even the words were formed with a twist of her mouth that betrayed her revulsion and her adjusted effort to not look undignified when speaking to the glorified slave.

“Oh,” Harry murmured, thoughtful as she nodded vaguely and turned back to her task of browning the slabs of pork fat.  _ Give it a second, then-  _ “I didn’t realize it had to be so wet.”

She was thankful she’d let her unruly dark locks grow as long as they have, and as voluminous as they were, because that meant that she could peer in the curtain to see Petunia’s rising ire, but the little child’s smirk of amusement was hidden from all but the popping grease. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Petunia sounded downright  _ done _ with the conversation, but she had continued on, as if she had to take precious time out of her life to point out how stupid Harry was and how obvious the situation really was, just to remind the brat of ‘his’ lack of intellect. “I’m dyeing some of Dudley’s old things grey for you. It’ll look just like everyone else’s when I’ve finished.”

_ And once again, the sheer lack of effort and stupidity of the nineties seems to assert itself _ , Harry pondered idly, knowing full well that should she actually take such things to school, not only would she not be questioned more than a bit by a teacher, but ultimately ruin her home life even further, despite the fact that there was absolutely nothing that they could do.

Dumbledore would just send a few fucking Aurors to mind-wipe whoever tried.  _ Again. _

_ If Draco didn’t get his hands around that slimy bastard’s throat first, she was  _ **_so_ ** _ taking a fucking shot. _

When she panned the breakfast and set it down on the table, she took her obligatory spot at the furthest part of the table, crossing one leg over the other and waiting in silence as first Dudley rushed down the stairs, plunking heavily into his seat as Vernon followed, much more slowly and clearly begrudging. He looked exhausted. Inside the sweet, pitch black darkness of her mind, Wisteria gave a slow, sinister cackle as she flicked her eyes unassumingly at the paper in his hands before flicking them back to the table.

When routine would carry through, she would be served last, and with the most burnt piece of toast and half a glass of water.

She didn’t mind much, she was just glad she prevented an  _ actual _ child from dealing with this absolute bullshit..

Dudley smacked his Smelting’s stick, a glorified cane, against the table in impatience while Petunia pretended that she had slaved away over the breakfast by plating up the rest of the food for her husband and son.

Harry hid a smile beneath her fingers, biting the inner lining of her lip as she started to mentally count.

When she had reached fifty seven, there was a scuffle at the front of the house, followed by the creak of the mail slot, and the flop of letters on the wooden floor.

Vernon didn’t even hesitate to grumble a “Get the mail, Dudley,” hardly fixing his paper in his hands as he concentrated on reading.

“Make Harry get it,” the pig-faced blonde whined, a pout on his mouth and his face, in its natural flush of obesity and disgust, screwed up in derision. Harry had to work twice as hard as usual not to smile. Keeping her face carefully blank as Vernon rephrased his words, with only a slight change in tone, from gruff and blank, straight to irritated but busy. “Get the mail, Harry.”

Harry didn’t even hesitate to get off of her seat, her lips twisting up in the corners as she passed the fat old man and his son, her steps almost silent on the floor as she twisted through the kitchen, past the livingroom and out toward the front door. 

She scooped up the small stack as she reached the wide, thick white door, eyebrows raised ever so slightly as she counted out, in order, the items in her hands.

_ A postcard from Marge, Vernon’s bitch of a sister.. A brown envelope that held the contents of the electric bill, and- _

And a thick envelope, made with magic-currenting parchment, with shining emerald ink.

_ Mr. H. Potter _

_ The Cupboard Under the Stairs _

_ 4 Privet Drive _

_ Little Whinging _

_ Surrey _

Her smile didn’t fade, not that she could help it, as she carefully cupped the other two items in her left hand and examined the letter with the right.

She had half a mind to open it right then and there, but-

_ But she so desperately wanted to see the panic on Vernon and Petunia’s faces as they were assaulted with magic post.. _

_ She so desperately wanted to see that spiteful little boy get hit with the hex to turn his hind end into a pig’s rump. _

_ She so desperately wanted to keep it canon. _

Well, at least for now.

_ Inconspicuously, a copy of the letter appeared in her opposite hand, lacking the magic, and sliding beneath the cupboard door as she passed. _

“Hurry up, boy-! What are you doing, checking for letter bombs-?!”

Vernon’s voice had started spiteful, but had cracked a smile at the end, amused by his own sense of wit.

Harry wasn’t bothered, merely dropping the post on the table before plopping back into her seat, and using her butter knife to carefully unstick the Hogwarts coat of arms.

_ She was actually looking forward to the wax she would get to use at school.. Maybe she would take a page out of CJ’s book and copy Erik Destler* for her dubious blackmail projects.. _

“Marge’s ill,” Vernon had an unpleasant sneer on his face as he spoke, but he was obviously very fond of the woman, as his voice was only slightly gruff as he informed his wife of the problem. “Ate a funny whelk..”

“Dad-!” Dudley’s voice was shrill, but he sounded excited, and vindictively gleeful as he rose his voice, cutting off his father with practiced, entitled ease. “Dad-! Harry’s got something-!”

Harry didn’t even glance up at the prideful, tattle-tale tone of her biological cousin, her fingers just managing to lift the flap of her letter before it was plucked sharply from her hands.

The vague, itching blackness in the furthest recesses of her mind twitched, the urge to lash out,  _ to slice and cut and rip apart, _ flickering idly across her mind before she pulled up a mental picture of her three boys.

The instant calm she felt after the split second was enough to ground her into her role once more, and she adopted a petulant, upset whine. “Hey, that was mine-!”

“Who’d be writing to  _ you _ ?” the sneer on Vernon’s face was almost comical as he gruffed a raspy laugh, but as his eyes fell to his hands, where he could clearly see the aged paper and the gleaming ink, as well as the full-pieced wax seal, she took a silent moment to watch as his red, angry face went from purple, to green, to ash, deathly white.

“P- _ P-Petunia-! _ ” His strangled cry had barely passed his moustache before Dudley was trying to vault over the table to snatch it, curiosity in his eyes and a nasty grimace on his face, his shirt dragging into his breakfast while Vernon used his other arm to block his son from even being within it’s line of sight.

Petunia had come back around the counter and took the outstretched letter, skimming her eyes just along the first line before her face had gone from a faint flash of red, before abruptly paling as well. She looked very well ready to faint, her free hand reaching up to catch her throat, as if the very effort to draw breath was becoming harder and harder with every moment she held the now crushed paper in her fist. “Vernon-!  _ Oh my goodness- Vernon-! _ ”

Dudley, clearly irritated at being ignored, swung his cane up, smacking his father upside the head, though the older, stern man looked like pale marble and ash-faced, rather dazed as he and his wife remained in an intense silent staredown.

“I want to read that letter-!” Dudley proclaimed loudly, in a voice that was, not even ten minutes ago, used to receive anything and everything he ever wanted,  _ immediately. _ When he was further ignored, his face flushing, Harry spoke up with a rather put-out, but not-quite as disappointed voice. “ _ I _ want to read it, actually. Considering it’s mine, and it’s illegal to open another person's mail..”

“Get out, the both of you,” Vernon rasped, stuffing the letter back into the envelope and moving to shove himself away from the table. Petunia looked panicked, as if anxiety were creeping in ever so slowly, building and building and building..

Dudley did  _ not _ like that at all.

“ _ Let me SEE IT-!” _ Dudley’s voice was shrill once more, reaching a pitch that had even Harry wincing.

“OUT-!”

Vernon had hardly ever yelled at Dudley, maybe only once or twice in all of his life. Dudley looked startled, but was not allowed another second to argue before both he and Harry were grabbed by the backs of their necks, Harry clearly more forcefully than Dudley, before they were pushed, in Dudley’s case, thrown in Harry’s, into the hallway. Harry ducked skillfully out of the way of Dudley’s swinging fist as the taller, pudgy boy hurried to press his eye to the keyhole of the now shut door. Harry didn’t even bother, pressing her ear next to the crack of the door jamb, closing her eyes halfway, in case Dudley got any ideas, and relaxing against the wall with slow, silent breaths to listen intently to the conversation beyond the door.

“Vernon,” Petunia’s voice strained, she sounded just on the cusp of crying, her heels clicking against the tile as she paced back and forth across the kitchen floor. “Look at the address- how could they possibly know where he sleeps-?! You don’t think they’re watching the house?” And  _ oh, _ Harry mused, letting her hair fall into her face and the smile pinch at her mouth, shoulders shuddering softly as she bit her lip.  _ Oh, this is  _ **_so_ ** _ worth it.. Bless my restraint.. _

“Watching- spying-” Vernon’s words were clipped and slurred, sounding just on the cusp of deranged as he tapped his foot, crinkling, and unwrinkling the letter in his hands with a furious, silent intensity. “Might be following us..”

“But what should we do Vernon?” Petunia implored, sounding ready to cry. “Should we write back? Tell them we don’t want-?”

_ Oh, what a lovely sound _ , Harry relaxed against the door.

Vernon was pacing in place of where Petunia had, his shining work shoes leaving heavy taps against the tile. “No,” he finally quipped, coming to a complete stop and standing straight as if the best and most brilliant idea had just hit him. “No, we’ll simply ignore it. If they don’t get an answer… yes, that’s best,” he murmured, talking more to himself than he was to his anxious wife, “we won’t do anything..”

“But-” Petunia tried, but Vernon had swung around in his place to shoot her a downright feral twist of lips in a grimace and a wild pair of dark eyes. “I’m not having one in the house, Petunia-!” he bellowed, and even Harry had taken a moment to recognize that Dudley had jumped, looking faintly nervous, before pressing his eyes closer to the door, making his nose even more pig-like in his concentration. Vernon’s voice continued to come unbidden through the door, too loud to smother much in this sturdy, but thin-walled house. “Didn’t we swear when we took him in we’d stamp out that dangerous nonsense-?!”

Harry spent the rest of the day in her cupboard, but the smile would not, for the life of her, leave her face.

Petunia didn’t give her more than a scrap of bread for lunch, and not having breakfast made her a bit annoyed, but with the reminder-

_ She would be going to a magical school- she would meet Ron and Hermione, she would meet Draco and Neville and Snape and- _

Holy shit- 

She was going to meet Snape..

Harry took several minutes in the dark of her cupboard, when she was certain that Dudley had begrudgingly gone to watch television and Petunia had gone upstairs to iron her family’s clothes, pressing her face tightly into the ratty pillowcase stuffed with her clean-ish clothes. Her screams were choked, but shrill, her legs swinging back and forth in excited kicks as she clutched closer to her pillow and laughed.

_ Oh, this was gonna be so much FUN-! _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An extra long chapter in apology for my absence.

Harry eyed the boarded up door, as well as the barricaded windows as she sat in her chair at the end of the table. Dudley’s room had been mostly cleared of junk, mainly due to the fact that he hadn’t wanted her to even be within vicinity of some of his favorite broken things.

On the plus side, she managed to tweak the camera she’d found into working like one of the magical ones. She now had a decent-ish blanket but she’d discarded the pillow she was given when she found there was a rip that threatened to let loose mass of stuffing should she ever try to use it. Dudley had thrown the tantrum to end all tantrums when his parents refused to listen to his squealing and screaming. Shouting that he  _ needed _ that room and  _ why _ couldn’t they just shut the unwanted child into the small tool shed in the backyard. 

The next day had been just as bad, Dudley had kicked, screamed, smacked his parents with his stick and even, literally, threw his turtle out of the window and through the small greenhouse that Petunia made Harry take care of.

_ The fact that she’d won more than one blue ribbon with her damned tomatoes kept Harry from having a blissfully uneventful summertime.. _

By the time it was breakfast, Dudley had withdrawn into a confused, silent heap. This was the very first time in his life he’d been denied something so vehemently. 

Harry did well to stay out of anything and everything involved with this child’s attitude.

_ She wasn’t sure how short her temper would be if he actually found out what managed to grate on her nerves enough where even the thought of her boys wouldn’t calm her. _

When Vernon had made Dudley go get the mail, in a strange show of pretending to be civil, Harry merely chewed slowly on the piece of toast Petunia had put on her plate. The older woman had been downright stiff, even giving Harry tight, small smiles whenever she had passed a drawn curtain window or doorway.

Harry didn’t care much for that day, other than the ten minutes she had to keep from laughing while Dudley and Vernon wrestled in the front hall until Vernon had reigned victorious. 

“Go to your cupboard- I mean bedroom-!” Vernon had snapped at Harry as she stood in the threshold, right next to Petunia as they watched the scuffle, Petunia looking two clicks from bawling out her eyes and chewing anxiously on her nail beds. “Dudley- go. Just go.”

The morning after  _ that one _ had three letters arriving, after a particularly grumpy Vernon had camped out in front of the door, likely on guard in case he caught Harry trying to outwait the postman. Harry could only sit in bitter, amused silence as she watched him shred them right at the table. Vernon hadn’t gone to work, and the ‘renovations’ finally began.

It was several days, several long, amusing days, in which Harry would pointedly do her chores, and plop down with a book she’d gotten from Mrs Figg, a fantasy tale about a duke and a peasant girl she had the vague suspicion was a retelling of a wizarding world love story, very much similar to Cinderella.

Saturday was actually a breaking point for Harry’s hold on her humor, and she and Dudley watched, wide eyed, as Petunia Dursley frantically smacked open the large, dairy-man delivered eggs she’d gotten through the living room window against the countertop, revealing a letter tightly, and neatly fit inside of each shell.

While Vernon was making loud, furious phone calls in another room, and Petunia was silently sobbing in the corner of the kitchen with a dishtowel pressed to her face, Dudley turned to give Harry the most stupefied expression she’d seen to date.

“Who on Earth wants to talk to  _ you _ this badly?”

“Probably an old toad in a tall pointed hat,” Harry stated simply, actually letting out an audible snicker when Petunia made a strangling sound, and started crying anew.

Sunday was the day she’d been looking forward to, and she was eating her meager, but decidedly bigger breakfast with a patience that put Dudley at ill ease. He didn’t say anything, however, knowing the last time Harry had looked so quietly happy, he’d wound up inside a boa constrictor cage.

“No post on Sundays,” Vernon stated simply as he sat at the table, Petunia looking just as relieved as she dished out his and Dudley’s heaping plates. “No damned letters today..”

Harry finished her piece of toast and the slice of apple, crossing one knee over the other and leaning back in her chair, counting the seconds with soft, audible taps of her fingers against her flesh. Vernon opened his mouth, looking a breath away from telling her to pipe down, when a soft sound came from the wall to their side, and his lips smacked shut. Petunia stopped the spatula in her hand, pausing her scraping the hash onto Dudley’s plate, when the first letter flew through through the grate of the fireplace, smacking sharply into the back of Vernon’s head as an entire stream of letters started spewing through the chimney in a constant current.

Dudley was screaming, Vernon was choking and Petunia was crying like the world was tipping on its axis into a dark void.

_ And all the while, Harry hid a smile. _

“Out-! OUT-!”

Harry was once again thrown out of the room, Dudley and Petunia scampering after with their arms over their heads, as if they expected one to carry an actual bomb.

“That does it-!” Vernon was, quite literally, tearing the hair from his thick, greasy moustache with his tense, sausage-like fingers, “I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We’re going away-! Just pack some clothes. No arguments-!”

Harry didn’t say a word before moving to go up the stairs. The letters were still hitting the kitchen at steady intervals and she had time only to stuff a few shirts and a pair of sweats into a pillowcase and slip on her giant, oversized, and thread-bare sneakers before slipping back down the stairs.

There was no notice to the Dursleys of the decent pouch of gold at the bottom or the small booklet filled with moving pictures, letters, and account ledgers tucked neatly in the folds of a pair of ratty jeans.

Harry tucked her bag at her feet, pulling out the knitting needles and the two sheaths of yarn from her pillowcase, silently setting to work as the car lurched out of the driveway, then sped down the street. Dudley was nursing the back of his head from where Vernon had accidently cuffed him with tears in his eyes, shooting Harry looks filled with such absolute loathing she had paused several times throughout her knots to shoot him one back, making him pause with an expression of fear before turning to look out the window.

They didn’t stop to eat or drink at all. Harry was used to going without meals for several days at a time, but Dudley wasn’t even able to skip a single one without loud complaint. 

Missing three had right to be classified as a nuclear disaster.

And all the while Harry knit on. She caught Petunia sending her scathing glares every now and then, and was even threatened a half hour in for having brought anything other than clothes, but after Harry had completely stopped her hands, and shot Petunia a dry, annoyed look, the little raven haired boy managed to speak a single, damning sentence.

“Knitting is the only thing keeping me from complaining as loud as your  _ son _ , so unless you would like me to prove how much of a menace  _ I _ can be, I would advise you to leave me alone.”

She went back to her knitting, and not even Vernon had the attention of mind to snap at her for the icy air that suddenly filled the car.

Dudley went quiet.

* * *

 

Harry tucked herself comfortably into the corner of the broken-down house on the great rock out at sea. She’d managed to keep her knitting dry in the downright terrible weather, channeling her energy through the metal prongs as she did and lacing each knot with her intentions.

_ And wasn’t that the core of magic in the first place? _

She could peer blankly at the wristwatch around Dudley’s awkwardly hanging arm over the only bed in the room.  _ 11:47 p.m. _

She went back to her knitting, picturing the bright red glow in her mind’s eye with a soft breath of wonder. The yarn itself was soft and thick, though her knots were incredibly small and tight, the red bright and with soft threads of black, long and shining entwined easily through the piece. 

When Saeran had given her an entire bag of Nemean Lion hair she had nearly burst into tears. The fact that her favorite mythological being existed, and was nearly extinct, was both astounding, exciting and saddening.

She was in the planning stages of starting a sort of magical world creature reserve for species going extinct.  _ Because apparently wizards didn’t have the damned funds to support shit to take care of their own helpless, secret lines of species.. _

Another glance.

The storm continued to pound.

_ 11:58 p.m. _

She continued to knit.

The rain shook the shack, and the sound of thunder boomed in the distant, soft flashes lighting up the windows with the sound. Harry reached up a hand to push a lock of hair behind her ear, crossing her legs neatly in front of her and setting back to sliding another hair between the pattern.

11:59 p.m.

The soft red in her mind’s eye didn’t fade, but her concentration did snap, stopping her hands mid twist as she heard the loud, booming knock.

* * *

 

The second, more insistent knock woke Dudley with a start, the round-faced boy sitting up with a start while he smeared the drool on his cheek down his fat neck, his eyes hazy and his pale blonde eyebrows furrowed in sleepy confusion. “Where’s the canon?”

“Deep in the pits of hell, where it belongs,” Harry mumbled under her breath, carefully tucking her knitting into her pillowcase, quickly checking that her hair was not overly messy and that she was wearing her socks and sneakers.

There was a crash, and not a full second later did Vernon come slamming through the door behind the children, armed with a rifle and looking bloody near mental as he swung his eyes back and forth, clothes haggard and his face pale and covered in sweat. “Who’s there-?! I warn you- I’m armed-!”

The door was, quite literally, slammed into the hut, hitting the floor with such a force that Harry could see a faint echo of a dent in the wood where the doorknob had hit the ground. Standing in the open doorway, silhouetted by the rain and thunder and lightning, Harry could make out a large, looming shape, with bushy, dark hair, and broad, sail-like shoulders.

The giant squeezed himself through the doorway, taking a good eight seconds to do so, all the while Petunia entered the room, stopped dead, and clung to the back of her husband, who had frozen at the sight of the goliath, jaw slack and face turning from ash white to sick green.

The man’s head brushed the ceiling, but he’d stopped down a moment to grab the door, and, almost apologetically, place it back against the door shaped hole in the wall. The sound almost instantly dampened again, and Harry had to fight back a smile as she kept her wide, unassuming eyes on the man as he started to grumble, taking in the room with narrowed, curious eyes.

“Couldn’t make us a cup o’ tea, could yeh?” Hagrid grumbled, sounding as if he had a crick in his spine, and straightening to do just that, letting out a distinctive pop before relaxing his shoulders again, “It’s not been an easy journey.” Hagrid’s black, small eyes looked over at Dudley, who was still sprawled out along the couch with a slack jaw and messy, straw-colored hair. “Budge up, yeh great lump,” he grumbled, not unkindly, but not kindly, either.

Dudley finally managed to scramble off of the sofa, jumping back until he was clinging to his mother, right behind Vernon.

“An’ here’s Harry-!” Hagrid’s voice was a tad louder now, with an obvious smile in his tone as the little raven haired child looked from his ragged dragon hide boots, (which she could only identify due to helping Saeran decide on several pairs via owl catalog.) and thick pants, to the giant, ragged coat with countless bulging pockets, ending on his long, thick beard and smiling black eyes.

“Las’ time I saw you, you was only a baby,” Hagrid told her gently, looking like he’d been suckerpunched, but still enthralled with a box of kittens. “You look a lot like yer dad, but yeh’ve got your mum’s eyes..”

Vernon seemed to come to a semblance of mind when he’d heard Harry’s name, making an odd sort of keening choke noise before raising his voice to a shrill, bellowing pitch. “I-.. I demand that you leave at  _ once _ -! Y-You are  _ breaking and entering-! _ ”

“Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune,” Hagrid grumbled, swiping the gun Vernon had shakingly pointed at him and bending it into a crude replica of a pretzel as if it were made of child’s modelling clay.  Tossing the useless scrap of metal to the corner of the room, Harry watched as the giant’s eyes took in the scene around him with a vague sort of consternation, and did she dare think, suspicion. Vernon made another strangled, helpless noise, and Hagrid’s eyes finally flickered back to Harry, looking much more relaxed, and clearly happy to see the child.

“Anyway, Harry,” he murmured, giving her such a warm smile she had trouble keeping herself from smiling back, “a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here- I mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste alright.”

He reached his big, bear-sized hands into his coat, and withdraw a rumpled square box from one of the pockets. Harry silently commended whomever created the charm for deepened pockets that didn’t spill things, because obviously, if there ever was an example, it was the Coat of Many Things that Hagrid always seemed to wear.

Inside the rumpled box, once Harry had gotten up to hesitantly walk over, and Hagrid had handed it over to her, there was a slightly squashed, but otherwise perfect sticky chocolate cake, with pink frosting and green icing spelling out Happy Birthday Harry in messy, but loving font.

“Uhm-” Harry paused, taking a moment to swallow her dry mouth, and look up at the man shyly. Because,  _ holy shit she was meeting Hagrid- Bunny-dragon Hagrid-! _ “Thank you- for.. The cake, but.. who are you?”

Hagrids laughed, loud and happy, before reaching out his hand, and taking hold of Harry’s entire right arm, shaking it carefully. “True I haven’t introduced myself. Rubeus Hagrid,” he gave another, firm shake, before pulling back with a grin. “Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to process the fact that  _ holy shit she just shook hand-arms with Hagrid ohmygodohmygod- _ but Hagrid had already moved on to the next bit of conversation. “What about that tea then, eh?” he grinned, rubbing his hands together with a smile, “I’d not say no ter summat stronger yeh’ve got it, mind.”

His eyes finally seemed to take in the entire room, resting first on the small ‘fireplace’ a glorified pile on the floor of burnt chip bags and banana peels. Hagrid snorted, clearly surprised and clearly unamused at the rubbish in the dingy grate, leaning over it a moment later. He kept it out of sight for a moment, but when he’d pulled back, there was a large, roaring fire filling up the bin, casting the room in orange light and warming the damp air in a single burst of comforting flames.

Hagrid shuffled back a step, and sat down onto the sofa, the seat sagging under his weight heavily, nearly touching the floor beneath it while Hagrid rumidged in his pockets with a concentrated expression on his face. A few moments later, he pulled out a copper tea kettle, a package of sausages, a poker, teacups and a teapot. There was also a bottle of amber liquid, but he merely took a sip of this before putting it back and moving to start making the tea. Harry settled quietly onto the floor a few feet away from the giant, watching the flames with rapt eyes and wrapping her arms around her legs.

Fairly soon, the rich smell of warm sausage filled the air, and Hagrid moved to place the first six sausages, slightly burnt, but wonderfully cooked, onto separate pokers. Dudley seemed to have made a move behind her, because the next thing she heard was Vernon snapping, in a stern, choked voice, “Don’t touch anything he gives you, Dudley-!”

“Yer great puddin’ of a son don’t need fattinin’ anymore, Dursley, don’ worry.” Hagrid only chuckled, a bit of faint irritation in his voice, though Harry suspected she had to actively listen for it to notice. Hagrid passed the sausages to Harry, and she waited a moment to give him a polite nod before taking a bite.

_ It was damn heavenly.. _

After she swallowed, and licked her lips, she spoke up, keeping her voice timid, and quiet. “I’m sorry, sir, who are you..?”

“Call me Hagrid,” the half-giant stated gently, his tone much softer than it had been with Vernon, “everyone does. An’ like I told yeh, I’m Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts, o’ course.”

“Er, no..” Harry murmured, looking over and flinching when she saw the dumbfounded expression on his face, quickly hurrying to speak in a quiet voice, “I mean, I don’t  _ know.. _ You said Hogwarts..?” she stopped when his eyes had gotten impossibly wider, and she shut her mouth with a click, murmuring a furtive, almost shameful, “I’m sorry..”

“ _ Sorry- _ ?” Hagrid practically roared as he got to his feet, his eyes now sharp and angry and he swung his gaze around to the Dursleys still huddled in the corner. “It’s  _ them  _ that should be sorry-!” His voice turned bitter, and incredibly apologetic as he turned his sad eyes back to the little messy black haired boy, “I knew yeh weren’t gettin’ yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn’t even know abou’ Hogwarts, fer cryin’ out loud-! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?”

“All what?” Harry measured just the right amount of ashamed confusion to make the eyes in the man’s skull nearly bulge out of his head. As awful as she felt for manipulating Hagrid like this, she knew she would need to up her game if she wanted things to stay on track long enough for her to fix this cesspool of a universe.

“ALL WHAT-?!” Hagrid’s voice was like thunder, paired with the actual thunder that crashed at that moment, and you got a three-piece set of Petrified-Dursleys. “Now wait jus’ one second-!”

He had bound onto his feet in an instant, anger radiating off of every inch of him, from his drawn down eyebrows to his clenched fists and it felt as if he filled the room to the brim with his presence and energy. “Do you mean ter tell me.. That this boy-  _ this boy _ \- knows  _ nothin’ _ abou’- about  _ ANYTHING-?! _ ”

“I know  _ some _ things,” Harry pointed out quietly, as if too timid to actually correct him on the matter, her eyes stayed downcast, and the shame on her face wasn’t difficult to force. Hagrid was an innocent teddy bear and she was being a right git. “I know how to do advanced math and stuff..”

Hagrid shook his head, giving Harry a look filled with such pity she almost felt sorry for her hypothetical persona. “About  _ our _ world, I mean.  _ Your _ world.  _ My _ world.  _ Yer parents’ world _ .”

“What world?” Harry asked softly.

Que Bear Bomb in 3.. 2.. 1..

“ _ DURSLEY-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” _

Vernon couldn’t even string together a single word with the gibberish falling out of his mouth. Seeing as he wasn’t going to get anything substantial from the older male, Hagrid turned to Harry with a desperate sort of grimace on his face. “But yeh must know about yer mum and dad?” When Harry frowned, furrowing her eyebrows and drawing her knees to her chest, Hagrid looked a notch closer to  _ actually _ exploding. “I mean, they’re famous.  _ You’re _ famous.”

“That can’t be..,” Harry murmured, lacing her tone with just enough uncertainty where she would be able to enjoy the complete fallout of Hagrid’s temper on the despicable family hiding in the corner. “Were they..?”

“Yeh don’ know.. Yeh don’ know..” Hagrid murmured, his fingers were running rhythmically through his hair, now. “Yeh don’ know what yeh  _ are _ ?”

It was as if a switch had been flicked, and suddenly Vernon had gathered a sweltering pile of bravery and, in Harry’s opinion, idiocy. “Stop-!” His voice was sharp and commanding as he stared at the giant, and Harry had a hard time of keeping herself from snorting out loud. “Stop right there, sir-! I forbid you to tell the boy anything-!”

_ Definitely stupid.. _ Harry mused in silent wonderment.

The strongest knight and bravest warrior would have fallen to his knees in a quivering heap should they ever be given a look as furious and agitated as the one Hagrid was sporting toward the instantly cowering man in the corner visibly shivering in his place. “You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was  _ there _ -! I  _ saw _ Dumbledore leave it, Dursley-! An’ you’ve kept it from him  _ all these years- _ ?!”

“Kept  _ what _ from me?” Harry sounded downright confused.

“STOP-!” the panic in his voice was almost tangible, but Harry’s eyes were wide, and transfixed solely on the face of the slighted giant, emerald green eyes flecked with gold filled with wonder and awe. “STOP THIS INSTANT-! I FORBID YOU-!”

Petunia gave a gasp of actual horror at the look on Hagrid’s face, and at the very situation she had dreaded ever to be wretched into. This was quite literally her worst nightmare come to life.

“Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh,” Hagrid nearly spat the words out of his mouth before he turned to Harry, his voice much calmer, much more gentle and coaxing. “Harry. Yer a wizard.”

The silence was nearly deafening as it settled in the hut, and the sound of the wind and rain beating against the side of the shack was the only thing heard for several long moments.

“I’m a.. What?” Harry whispered.

The shock wasn’t faked much. The pure  _ feeling _ .. The  _ experience _ she received as she heard those words..  _ Those words spoken to  _ **_her_ ** _.. _

“A wizard, o’ course,” Hagrid explained, his voice was back to patient, and coaxing, moving to sit heavily back down onto the sofa with sad eyes. “An’ a thumpin’ good’un I’d say, once yeh’ve been trained up a bit. With mum an’ dad like yours, what else would yeh be? I reckon it’s abou’ time yeh read yer letter.”

Hagrid pulled the final letter out of his pocket, and Harry had a hard time keeping her hand from trembling as she took it, carefully using her long thumbnail to pull off the seal, and open the flap. Inside were several papers, the first and foremost topped with a lavish, cursive font made with what was undoubtedly a quill.

* * *

 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_ of  _ WITCHCRAFT _a_ _ nd  _ WIZARDRY

~

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

( _ Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  _

_ Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards _ )

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find the enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment. 

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Minerva McGonagall

_ Deputy Headmistress _

* * *

 

Focusing resolutely on every aspect of the letter, the feel of the paper, the color of the ink.. The swoop of the O’s.. It took Harry three tries to read it through to understand  _ she was going to Hogwarts.. _

_ She was actually going to go to a fictional school to learn why she was able to do the impossible.. _

Holy shit..

It was on autopilot that she managed to ask, in a strained, confused voice, to not betray her absolute elation and excitement. “What does it mean, they await my owl, Mr Hagrid?”

“Gallopin’ Gordons, that reminds me,” he huffed, smacking a hand to his forehead in a ‘way to go, idiot’ gesture, hard enough that Harry suspected he could have broken through one of the shack walls, though he only looked mildly affected, like a light sting. He reached into his pocket, a different one this time, and pulled out an owl-  _ a real life owl from a pocket dimension in his coat- _ a long feathered quill, and a small roll of parchment. He stuck his tongue between his teeth, and Harry already knew what he would write, down to the way he would dot the end. He rolled it up, and gave it to the owl perched on his knee, letting it clamp its beak around the parchment before he got up, walking two whole steps to the door before he opened it, and threw the bird out into the storming rain.

“Where was I?” Hagrid asked absently as he returned to his spot, but Vernon, ever the spinster and control freak, still the color of vomit and ash, but looking ready to reach across and strangle the raven haired boy on the floor, finally spoke up with a strained, stern voice.

“He’s not going.”

Hagrid gave a dismissive grunt, barely giving Vernon a glance before rolling his eyes. “I’d like ter see a great Muggle like  _ you  _ stop him.”

“A what?” Harry asked softly.

Hagrid looked absolutely pleased that he had the child’s full attention, but the small, frail looking boy sitting in front of him also grated on his radar. The boy's arms were much too skinny. All he’d felt in the handshake they had shared was bone.. “A Muggle,” he stated simply, instead. He would take up his concern with Dumbledore. The older man always knew what was best. “It’s what we call nonmagic folk like them. An’ it’s your bad luck you grew up in a family o’ the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on.”

“We swore when we took him in we’d put a stop to that rubbish,” Vernon snapped sternly, clearly agitated that he’d been dismissed. “We swore we’d stamp it out of him-! Wizard  _ indeed _ -!”

“You  _ knew _ ?” Harry had the decency to act affronted, if only slightly upset that she hadn’t gotten to her favorite part yet. “You knew that I’m a.. A wizard..?”

_ The words on her tongue tasted like the finest chardonnay and the sweetest chocolate. _

“ _ Knew- _ !” It was Petunia who found her voice this time, shrieking and pulling at her hair, which lacked it’s usual curlers, leaving it a tightly bound blond mess of sweaty, straw colored locks. “ _ Knew-! _ Of  _ course _ we knew-! How could you  _ not _ be, my dratted sister being what she was-?! Oh,  _ she _ got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-  _ that school- _ and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn-! Turning teacups into rats-!  _ I  _ was the only one who saw her for what she was-  _ A FREAK-! _ ” It was clear to absolutely everyone in the room that this had been building up for many,  _ many _ years inside the mind of Petunia Dursley, and Harry could only politely wait as she listened to the batshit crazy woman scream her head off. “But for  _ my _ mother and father,  _ oh no-! _ It was  _ LILY _ this, and  _ LILY _ that, they were PROUD of having a witch in the family-!” Petunia took a gasp of breath, bracing herself again before she started once more, her voice just as loud and shrill as it had been before the pause. 

“Then she met that  _ POTTER _ at school and they left and got married and had  _ you _ -” the absolute loathing on her tongue couldn’t be masked by her franticness, and out of the corner of her eye, Harry could see Hagrid tensing further and further in his spot. “And of course _ I  _ knew you’d be just the  _ same _ -! Just as strange, just as- as-  _ abnormal _ \- and then, if you please, she went and got herself  _ blown up- _ AND WE GOT LANDED WITH YOU-! _ ” _

“Blown up..” Harry repeated slowly, picturing the flash of green for an instant, just an instant, before she found her voice, a shaky, quiet thing with all of the pent up frustration she could muster, “You told me that they died in a car crash..”

No sooner had the words left her mouth had Hagrid exploded, jumping to his feet and making the house rattle with his bellowing scream. “ _ CAR CRASH-?! _ ” The Dursleys seemed to once again realize and understand that this was a large man. A large man who likely was a wizard, and who could, quite easily, murder them in the middle of the sea with no witnesses and completely get away with it.

Or maybe that was just Harry’s quiet understanding of why they’d huddled into the corner like trapped mice.

“How could a  _ car crash _ kill Lily an’ James  _ Potter _ -?! It’s an outrage-! A scandal-!  _ Harry Potter _ not knowin’ his own story when  _ every  _ kid in our world knows his name-!”

“What happened to them?” Harry asked quietly, keeping her voice level as she guaged the lashing magic that echoed widely around the half giant in unfocussed torrents. It was untamed, and wild, and she had the distinct impression that if she didn’t interrupt when she should, something bad would happen with that magic that might cost Hagrid something worse than his job. Hagrid suddenly took note of Harry, the small, curious boy curled up near the fire watching him with big, green eyes filled with curiosity and sadness. All of a sudden, he realized how little he actually was prepared to tell him. He didn’t know what Dumbledore would allow, what Dumbledore wouldn’t- plus, Harry  _ was _ just a kid- there was no way of telling how the news would really affect him.. But at the same time..  _ Never knowing where you came from.. _ The disgust Hagrid felt toward the Dursleys seemed to intensify thrice fold in that instant, but he was more concerned with the child that had been temporarily put into his care.

“It begins.. I suppose.. With-.. With a person called- but it’s incredible yeh don’t know his name, everyone in our world knows-”

“Who?” Harry asked quickly, knowing right when to cut him off, her green eyes wide and bright and thirsting for the knowledge of the truth of her heritage. Hagrid caved instantly.

“Well- I don’ like sayin’ the name if I can help it. No one does.”

“Why not?” Harry asked curiously.

“Gulpin’ gargoyles, Harry, people are still  _ scared _ . Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went..  _ Bad _ . As bad as you could go. Worse.  _ Worse _ than worse. His name was…” Hagrid gulped audibly, going quiet. But Harry refused to allow herself not to have an excuse to know the actual name. “Could you write it down?”

“Nah, can’t spell it,” Hagrid brushed it off, shaking his head in obvious unease before he rolled his shoulders, “All right, all right,  _ Voldemort. _ ” He immediately shuddered, the name bringing old, foreign chills into his body without any other prompt. Harry didn’t looked phased. “Don’t make me say it again. Anyway, this-  _ this _ wizard, about twenty years ago, now, started looking fer followers. Got ‘em, too- some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ‘cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches… terrible things happened. He was takin’ over. ‘Course, some stood up to him- an’ he killed ‘em. Horribly. One o’ the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn’t dare try takin’ the school, not jus’ then, anyway.

“Now, yer mum an’ dad were as good a witch an’ wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an’ girl at Hogwarts in their day-! Suppose the myst’ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get ‘em on his side before… probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin’ ter do with the Dark Side..

“Maybe he thought he could persuade ‘em… Maybe he just wanted ‘em out of the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an’.. An’..”

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted hanky, and Harry silently took a moment to add a handkerchief to the list of gifts to give Hagrid for Christmas and his birthdays, etc. The sound of a foghorn broke her from her thoughts, and she looked up just in time to see him wiping his nose of snot and tears.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears and sadness as he looked on at the spitting image of James Potter, down to the toffee-colored skin and ink-toned hair. The only difference were Lily's eyes, the scrawny build and the mop of hair being just a bit too long. “But it’s  _ that  _ sad- knew yer mum an’ dad, an’ nicer people yeh couldn’t find-.. Anyway.. You-Know-Who killed ‘em. An’ then- an’ this is the real myst’ry of the thing- he tried to kill you,  _ too _ . Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin’ by then.. But he couldn’t do it..” Hagrid’s voice had took on a low, raspy quality, awe in his voice and reverence in his eyes as they trailed to the lightning shaped scar on the temple of the child in front of him. The child with the big green eyes. “Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That’s what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh-.. Took care of yer mum an’ dad an’ yer house, even-.. But it didn’t work on you, an’ that’s why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill ‘em, no one except  _ you, _ an’ he’d killed some o’ the best witches an’ wizards of the age- the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts- an’ you was only a baby.. An  _ you lived _ ..” There was pride in Hagrid’s eyes, and Harry had a hard time not opening her mouth and denouncing everything he had just said.

_ He didn’t know any better.. _

_ None of them really did. _

_ Wizards are stupid. _

“Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders,” Hagrid informed him softly, taking the child’s silence for digestion of the heavy information. “Brought yeh ter this lot.”

“Load of old tosh,” Vernon spit. Harry almost jolted in surprise. She’d been so wrapped up in the story, reliving it through Harry’s eyes and reliving her infantile days, reliving Voldemort's final few seconds, that she had briefly forgotten that the filth were still piled up in the corner.

_ A mistake she was never going to make again.. _

“Now, you listen  _ here _ boy,” Vernon was nearly foaming at the mouth in his rage, but Harry had only turned to him with a silent, blank expression on her face, watching the veins on his neck and forehead pulse and his sweaty hands fist rhythmically at his sides. “I accept there’s something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn’t have cured-”  _ As if you haven’t already tried and failed, _ Harry found herself idly thinking, only listening with half a mind as her Uncle by marriage continued to seethe, “and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world’s better off without them in my opinion- asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types- just what I expected, always knew they’d come to a sticky end-”

Hagrid exploded, for a third time that night, this time actually  _ shaking _ the foundation and managing to pull a battered, old pink umbrella from inside his jacket of many pockets, moving to point the end of it like a sword toward the huddled group with an expression of pure  _ rage _ .. “I’m warning you, Dursley.. I’m  _ warning you _ .. One more word..”

Vernon went absolutely silent, likely seeing, in his mind's eye, the image of himself getting speared by the giant umbrella, and left to float face down in the salt water not ten yards from the door of their hut.

“That’s better,” Hagrid’s voice was gruff, but he had calmed just a hair, breathing out a heavy, tired sigh and sitting back down on the sofa, where it entirely reached the floor this time with a sad sounding creak. 

“What happened to You-Know-Who?” Harry asked quietly. She didn’t bother messing up the name.

“Good question Harry,” Hagrid actually looked relieved she hadn’t tried to say the “true” name of the wizarding world’s Hitler. “Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That’s the biggest myst’ry, see… he was gettin’ more an’ more powerful. Why’d he go? Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him  _ to _ die.. Some say he’s still out there, bidin’ his time, like, but I don’t believe it. People who was on his side came back to ours. Some of ‘em came outta kinda trances. Don’ reckon they could’ve done if he was comin’ back.

“Most of us reckon he’s still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. ‘Cause somethin’ about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin’ goin’ on that night he hadn’t counted on-..  _ I _ dunno what it was, no one does-.. But somethin’ about you stumped him, all right.”

The silence stretched on for five, then six, then seven counts, before Harry admit, in a soft, unsure voice, “Hagrid.. I think you might have made a mistake.. I don’t think I  _ can _ be a wizard..”

Hagrid chuckled, and Harry peeled her eyes from the floor, where her sneakered feet were nudging one another in the warmth of the fire.

“Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?”

The giggle Harry let out in that instant was cut off quickly, but she still tucked her mouth and chin into her knees.

The Brazilian Boa had been a wonderful companion for the few hours she’d managed to speak to him before sending him off with Saeyoung for a port key to Brazil. 

“See,” Hagrid grinned, seeing the flush on the child’s face and catching the grin just a moment before it was tucked away. “Harry Potter,  _ not a wizard.. _ Just you wait, you’ll be right famous at Hogwarts.”

Vernon’s voice cut into her happy, blissful stupor at the memory of her afternoon with Saeyoung while her “magical” physical copy stayed locked in the cupboard.

While she was dragging herself out of the exact memory of how he had tried to cuddle the giant danger noodle in the comfort of their perky kitchen nook, she had managed to miss enough Dialogue to warrant Hagrid jumping to his feet with a thunderous roar.

_ Half giant indeed. _

“ _ NEVER- INSULT- ALBUS- DUMBLEDORE- IN- FRONT- OF- ME-!!!!!!!” _

Hagrid had swung his ratty pink umbrella down, and there was a great flash of purple light, a sound not unlike a bottle rocket shooting out followed by a crack, and the very next instant was filled with Dudley squealing at the top of his lungs, hopping from foot to foot in a terrible rendition of the potty dance with his hands holding tightly to his rear end.

Harry knew without looking what was sprouting from the base of his spine, and the thought had her biting back a loud, delightful cackle.

_ Her witch’s cackle was perfected long before she had turned eight. Saeyoung and Saeran, her beautiful baby boys, were ascertain to make sure she was as prepared as she felt necessary for anything and everything. _

The door slammed shut as Vernon pulled Dudley and Petunia into the room, making sure something heavy was slammed up against it a few seconds later, likely an old chest of drawers. Harry watched in baited silence while Hagrid visibly calmed down, running his free hand’s fingers through his beard and tapping his opposite shoe with a soft, even rhythm. 

“Shouldn’ta lost me temper,” he’d murmured, almost bashful the instant he’d realized Harry was watching him with wide, soft eyes. “But it didn’t work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn’t much left ter do.”

Harry giggled, and Hagrid gave her a soft, gentle smile, casting the child a look that appeared two shades from shameful, borderline nervous. “Be grateful if yeh didn’t mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts.. I’m.. er.. Not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin’.. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh, an’ get yer letters to yeh an’ stuff, one o’ the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job-”

“Why aren’t you supposed to do magic?” Harry asked curiously, though there was a polite note in it to show she wouldn’t mind if he didn’t answer. He did, however, after a moment of thought to word the proper response together.

“Oh, well.. I was at Hogwarts myself, but I.. er.. Got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an’ everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, and Hagrid looked a touch panicked, likely thinking she would ask why he had been expelled, but after several seconds, and a definite nod, Harry shrugged her shoulders, and shot him a smile. “Well, I’m tired. I can’t wait to see magic for the  _ first time ever _ when we go to get my supplies tomorrow..” She gave a wide, exaggerated yawn, and the relief on Hagrid’s face was a slight reprieve from her guilt of lying by omission. However, as she lied out across the floor, pulling her pillowcase of things from her side and tucking it beneath her head, she felt something giant, thick and heavy settle over her shoulders and along her back, turning her head just in time to see Hagrid tucking it around her shoulders with a grateful smile. He ruffled her hair gently, before moving to go lie down on the sofa.

“G’night, Harry..”

“Goodnight Hagrid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a nice little note in that box at the bottom if you have questions, concerns or a need to scream into the void.


End file.
